


à raconter ses maux, souvent on les soulage

by stonerjohnlaurens



Series: History Obliterates (The Modern Hamilton Universe) [8]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 2nd generation, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Coming Out, Domestic, Growing Up Together, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, Kidfic, Learning How Not To Shun Your Children 101, Non-binary character, Other, Swearing, The 'Q' Slur, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-14 00:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7144820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonerjohnlaurens/pseuds/stonerjohnlaurens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A problem shared is a problem halved.<br/>Or something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	à raconter ses maux, souvent on les soulage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MajorMinor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorMinor/gifts).



> Happy birthday, my dear Kay. You're only 19 and you know the rest. I hope you enjoy this.
> 
> This is very VERY self indulgent because I love Herc/Laf and I don't think that Lafayette as a trans character is discussed enough, and Hercules isn't seen as a person with feelings enough. Also Georges! And internalized hatred! Hooray!
> 
> No one in this fic is perfect, or flawless, or "a sweet precious cinamon roll uwu." They're adults who all misspeak and make really dumb mistakes.

There have been, admittedly, happier times.

 

There was their graduation, for one. Lafayette had graduated with a 3.7 GPA, somehow. Their boyfriend of three years, Hercules, had a 3.1. Not that anyone cared after graduation, of course.

 

They remember sitting in a lawn chair, fingers interlocked with Hercules. Adrienne was to their left, as they were instructed to sit in alphabetical order. She had leaned on their shoulder, sighed heavily, and started whispering to them about how fast the years had gone by. They nodded in agreement, not wanting to say much. For they sat in fear that the tears in the corners of their eyes would trail down their face if they ventured to. They could barely register the corny goodbye speech that the college’s president was delivering due to their constant internal chanting of _you made it, you made it, look at you, you’ve graduated from an American college._

 

“Well, this is it, off to grad school.” Alexander announced with a hearty chuckle. He holds up his shot glass and looks amongst his friends. Of course, their after party was at their regular meeting spot, Chesapeake Bar. They all sat in the bar booth, all looking quite unimpressed.

 

“Ugh.” Hercules spat, tracing a pattern over the rim of his own shot. So eloquently put.

 

“Can we cut the academia bullshit and skip to the part where we’re shitfaced? Please?” John asked. Lafayette nodded to express their assent. John has already filled up three shot glasses in front of him, as opposed to his friends’ singular servings. _Oh_ , thought Lafayette, _it’s going to be a long night indeed._

 

“Well, excuse me for being excited! I’m this much closer to having my own law firm.”

 

“Yes, yes, we all do know, Mr. 177-LSAT-score.” Lafayette quipped. John and Hercules laughed and the latter hummed happily, leaned into Lafayette’s shoulder as if they’re a big, sentient pillow. Lafayette tried not to show their excitement, their disbelief that someone so wonderful chose to be in their life.

 

Shots are consumed, swallowed, gagged upon, and taken to the head. Soon, everyone had around eight shots of rum in them and around three mojitos, save for John. Alex made sure to cut John off at three rum shots and one mojito, the lightweight.

 

“Rum is….terrible, just so you know,” Hercules fumbled with his words, his tongue tripping over his obvious intoxication. Lafayette’s switched roles with Hercules and started to lean into him. They had half a mind to stop, for the angle can’t be good for their ponytail, but Hercules’ aura was too inebriating. Hercules smells of comfort. Comfort in this case smells like sweat and some disgusting cologne he probably swiped from a fashion magazine.

 

Alex put a hand to his chest best he could without toppling. “How DARE you insinuate such a thing. This is my _heritage_ you’re dissing. We Puerto-Ricans…we _love_ our rum, how dare you. Rum saved us…our economy, Herc, ever…ever thought of that?”

 

“It tastes like the lovechild of battery acid and gasoline.”

 

“Rude ass….” Alex turned his head quickly to survey the bar, cringed at how fast he moved, and put out a hand to make the world stop spinning. “Where’s John?”

 

“He’s over there,” Lafayette pointed vaguely towards the other side of the bar. “He’s talking up Trumbull.”

 

“Ugh, Trumbull, what a—” Alex got up slowly, hands out by his side to keep him afloat. Lafayette grimaced through their brain fog. They overdid it, definitely. “What a dick. His paintings…they’re not even that….that good. He thinks he’s so cool because of his one eye and his…he’s a Harvard-transfer…he thinks…”

 

“I still use the painting he did of you as my contact photo in my phone,” Hercules said.

 

“I’m gonna talk to him,” Alex completely bulldozed through Hercules’ comment and waddled over to Trumbull and Laurens.

 

“God, they really are messes, huh?” Lafayette murmured into Hercules’ bicep.

 

“The hottest of messes. They’re perfect for each other.”

 

“Hey…” Lafayette put a hand up to graze the stubble on Hercules’ chin. They moved it to his bottom lip, prodded at it softly. “What if I told you…what if I told you I didn’t want to go to grad school?”

 

Hercules shrugged them off his arm and cradled their face in his hands. Lafayette pressed their lips to one of his palms and kissed it. The sensation made Hercules giggle and retract his grip for a second, but he soon put his hands back.

 

“Do you mean that?” He whispered. “I think we’re a little drunk to have this conversation, but,” Hercules stopped and squinted his eyes shut, surely to squish his nausea. “I wouldn’t think any different of you, my love. You are everything to me and nothing will ever change that.”

 

" _Hercules,_ ” They whined, high in their throat. They pushed kisses into his palm again. “ _Tu es_ ,” Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss. “ _Mon ange, mon—.”_ Kiss, kiss, very wet kiss. “ _Mon amour_.”

 

Hercules pulled his hand away and wiped it on his shirt. “Don’t drown me now,” He said, laughed a little too hard, and pulled them in for a proper kiss on the lips.

 

“Besides…” Hercules sighed and, man, Lafayette never noticed how good he was at holding his alcohol until now. They were surely doe-eyed, eyes glossy as polished pearls, tripping over their French and English and _Frenglish_. Hercules, contrarily, looked so composed and sober, as if he’d been training for this for years. Like it’s a goddamned Olympic event. He was even working his way through another mojito.

 

“I got into Brown, but I don’t really have the means to go. Not right now anyway. And…I didn’t really want to go to grad school either. I only applied because I told myself I would back in freshman year.”

 

“And what’s changed since then?” Their voice was too slurred, they could hear the drunk in it. They wanted to be embarrassed but they were too anxious to hear their boyfriend’s answer.

 

“Like you don’t know. Lafayette, you, shit. You don’t understand how much you’ve fucked up my schedule.”

 

“I see.”

 

“No, not in a bad way. A good way. The best way. Laf, you’ve completely changed my outlook on life, my plans, and my aspirations. You helped me realize I was selling myself short and you allowed me an outlet to be myself.”

 

Overlooking the time spent picking glass shards out of Alex’s knuckles and the countless bruises John earned that night in his inevitable tussle with Trumbull, it was the perfect night. Lafayette kissed Hercules openly and passionately, with not as much as a glance from anyone else.

 

 

Another happier time was their engagement and resulting marriage. Manhattan living was expensive but it was their only choice now. Hercules had asked to live with them and they refused to return to France after their mother died, despite their grandmother’s begging.

 

“ _J’aime mon famile, S’il tu plait,_ Gilbert,” She had said. “ _Ne pas aller_.”

 

They didn’t listen. Instead, they sent him their new address and wished him the best back home. Well, back in France. America is home now.

 

They don’t know if it’s the patronizing tone she used, or the fact that she refused to refer to them by their chosen mononym, Lafayette, but it struck them as offensive. They barely spoke to her again.

 

Around three weeks into cohabitating a space with Hercules the question comes up, spoken like it had been waiting on his tongue patiently for the proper moment the whole time. Lafayette had been eating at the time, mind fuzzy, half concentrating on _America’s Got Talent_ buzzing on the living room TV, and half concentrating on the watery _soupe à l'oignon_ they had made to combat their homesickness. (Their efforts were to no avail. They could never get the consistency right.)

 

All seemed to stop when the word “marry” left Hercules’ mouth. Lafayette froze and dropped their fork. The two of them didn’t have a lot, but they didn’t really need a lot. Lafayette was a History teacher at an intercity high school, one of the most common occupations for an American Studies major like themself. Hercules was an accountant, but he tailored suits in his spare time. Money was tight with the rent being upward of $3000 monthly and their income being so marginal, but it was comfortable. Lafayette had an emergency account with money saved from royal affairs back in France, so the arrangement wasn’t _tortuously_ draining their funds. Their new life in New York was oozing with domesticity, and Lafayette liked their routine they had fallen into. Marriage could skew that up.

 

“Yes,” They said, without so much as an afterthought. They repeated it again and again, over and over, as if it were the only word they knew how to say in English.

 

Their wedding ceremony was surprisingly small and tame. You’d think with two European born New Yorkers, flair would be in abundance, but no. It was intimate and sweet, per Hercules request, the guest list just breaking twenty. They married in the Conservatory Gardens of Central Park, white flower petals gliding through the air behind them, just the right scenery for spring. On the attendance list were the usual suspects: Alexander Laurens-Hamilton, Frances Laurens and John Laurens, Thomas Jefferson, Adrienne de Lafayette and her girlfriend at the time (only God remembers the broad’s name; the girl goes through partners like it’s nothing), and Hercules’ parents. Some not-so-usual guests were invited as well, including Lafayette’s favorite undergraduate professor George Washington, Aaron Burr and his family (consisting of his wife Theodosia and their daughter of the same name), and all three Schuyler sisters.

 

The reception was rather tame as well. The boys and Lafayette had gotten out all their booze-lust at their unconventional bachelor’s party, so what followed the wedding was mostly goofy sober dancing and embarrassing stories from college shared over non-alcoholic beverages and cake.

 

Soon after Alexander’s long-winded best man speech and Thomas’ even longer “man of honor” counter-speech, it was time to disband. The Hamilton-Laurens family wished the newlyweds luck with loving words and hugs full of tears.

 

“A glass, to freedom.” Alex said, holding up the last of his champagne glass. His sincerity is questionable, as the grin on his face is tight and almost forced.

 

“I feel like there’s a catch to this nonsense.” Hercules grumbled. His hand was around Lafayette’s waist, moving up and down slowly, not even enough force to be considered holding. His touch just kind of hovered over Lafayette’s form, a soothing touch that says _I’m here, we’re here together, and I love everything about you._

 

“Something you will never see again, ha!” Alex downs the rest of his glass, playfully shoves at John’s shoulder. John, holding a sleeping Frances in his arms, scowls at his husband. The two-year-old doesn’t even stir, snoring into John’s embrace peacefully.

 

“No matter _what_ they tell you.” John quipped under his breath, making meaningful eye contact with Hercules. “I’m going to go get her in her car seat, get in when you’re ready to go.”

 

John made his way to his car and Alex waved at them as if they’d never see each other again. He turned back to the couple of the hour.

 

“But seriously guys, congratulations. My best man speech wasn’t nearly long enough.”

 

“Yes it was,” Lafayette affirms. “I promise you it most definitely was.”

 

“Shut it. It’s just…” Alex got closer to the newlyweds, surveyed their surroundings to assure no one was around, as if he had C.I.A. level information to deliver.

 

“I really love my family, okay? John, my sweet John, he already was the love of my life, but marrying him was the best decision I’ve ever made in my life. Something like that needs to be cherished, celebrated. And this…” Alex holds onto both of their sides. Lafayette can smell the twinge of champagne radiating off his body. “This could be the start of a family, you know?”

 

The possessive grip on Lafayette’s side gets the tiniest bit tighter.

 

“Not to like, rush you or anything. Shit.” Alexander realized his mistake and shook his head. “I’m just gonna go, talk to you guys later.”

 

He stopped. “Text me whenever, especially if you’re in the Albany area, okay? We love you guys. Visit us.”

 

The two newlyweds stay there for a bit, in silence. Herc’s hand moves about their waist, as if he’s reading their body in braille. Lafayette wonders if this is meaningful touching or not.

 

Perhaps he’s just trying to figure out what material the dress is made of. The couple butted heads prior to the event. Lafayette, the biggest American fan in the world, thought it charming how it’s American tradition for the groom to avoid seeing the bride’s gown until she walked down the alter.

 

 

“That’s gonna be hard, seeing there’s no bride in this relationship.” Hercules said, laughing, preoccupied with washing dishes. “And with me making your dress and all, I kinda have to see it on you, so.”

 

“Oh, yes, about that.” Lafayette shuffled nervously on their feet. “Angelica, Maria, and I already picked out a dress for me to wear.”

 

Hercules paused and put down the soapy mug he had in his hand. “Maria?”

 

“Remember, Maria Cosway? Art student, pink hair, she and Thomas had a thing…”

 

“I know _who_ she is,” He snarled. “I just don’t see how you assume she seems more experienced in this field than I am. How could you just refuse one of my dresses?”

 

“Hercules, _mon monde_ , you do know that is not what I am meaning.” They walked up behind him and placed their hands on his upper back, rubbed in circles until he huffed in surrender.

 

“She barely knows you,” Hercules reiterated. Lafayette can tell he’s quite slighted by this. There’s a particular vein near their fiancé’s temper that pulses when he’s tense, and it’s throbbing and visible. He’s stopped scrubbing the dishes and has evolved to nearly breaking them with the force he’s putting into rubbing the residue off of them. Lafayette moves their right hand to rest over Hercules’, their left hand still steady on his back.

 

They press a kiss to the place where his jaw meets the underneath of his ear. “Angelica volunteered back when we were engaged a few months ago. She said she and Maria were a package deal and I could not go on to buy a dress without her. Do not make this about her, this is about our wedding.” Hercules just grunts in response, but does at least appear to try to ease some of the tension pent up in his body. Lafayette coos at this, kisses him again, and goes back to lounging on the couch. Hercules continues to wash the dishes in silence.

 

 

With a sum of cash given as a gift from Lafayette’s uncle, the couple visited him back in France for a few days. After this time they ventured forth on their actual honeymoon destination: Italy.

 

They wanted to start treading uncharted territory, both metaphorically and physically. Originally, they thought they would vacation in the area between their two homelands, Great Britain. With further consideration, though, they settled on the fact that Great Britain is a shitty place to be in general.

 

The honeymoon was beautiful. Aside from the sights of the country as a whole, the couple expressed interest in seeing the lovely artistry of the area. Years of rooming with Alexander had Hercules spouting off random facts about Ancient Rome’s history throughout the more touristy parts of the trip, and Lafayette found his wit to be charming.

 

So charming, in fact, that every breath not spent telling them a useless fact was pressed into Lafayette’s skin. Every second spent indoors was one spend fucking relentlessly, touches so full of passion and kisses so genuine and velvety sweet Lafayette thought their mind would melt out of their ears.

 

Hercules had his head buried between their thighs, lapping at his new _spouse_ , fuck, isn’t that beautiful, his _spouse’s_ dick, sufficiently coating it in saliva, twisting his fingers in and out of their hole, overstimulating them to the point it nearly hurt. His rugged digits would grind over Lafayette’s tender prostate and they’d hiss at the contact, pray to every god in the sky to help them stay grounded, hoarding breath in their lungs like it was being sucked from the atmosphere.

 

Hercules stopped his onslaught after he pushed a third orgasm out of Lafayette, weak yes, but an orgasm nevertheless. He immediately backed from them to give them space. Their skin felt nearly singed it was so hot and throttled. Their chest rose and fell with exertion. Lafayette was sure they were going to die.

 

“You were right.” Hercules whispered when he plopped beside them.

 

They blotted some of the perspiration off of their brow. “What?” They strained to respond.

 

“Maria and Angelica picked out a very nice dress for you,” Herc said admittedly. “I could barely keep my hands off of you during the ceremony. I’m sorry for guilt-tripping you. I promise I’ll never do that again.”

 

Lafayette laughed at Hercules’ timely confession and apology, still basking in the afterglow. They whined for Hercules’ to turn on the AC, and Hercules complained that the instructions to the unit were in Italian.

 

Yes, that was a happy time.

 

 

The most vividly remembered of their recent happy times, by far, had to be when Georges came into the couples’ life.

 

Throughout college, Lafayette and their very best friend Adrienne often had to remind others that, no, don’t mind their surnames, they’re not relatives. They had been arranged to marry when they were both very young, split as soon as they were of consensual age, and immigrated together to the United States. Colleagues, peers, friends, yes, of course. But never relatives and definitely never lovers.

 

This fact was a Godsend for Lafayette when they and Hercules had decided they wanted children. Adrienne, the angelic woman, had volunteered to be their surrogate mother for very little money, considering the usual wages for unregulated surrogates.

 

That afternoon had been gloomy. Lafayette cared not for Mondays, especially dreary ones like this one had been. The sun barely showed its rotten face, leaving the city chilly from the aftershocks of winter. March had never been so glum.

 

She called them that evening as they were cooking dinner, voice vivacious and happy as always, to tell them the great news. She was pregnant, and Lafayette would soon have their very own child. They burst into happy tears at news. They could hear Adrienne and her girlfriend crying along.

 

Hercules got home from work that day angry as ever. He slammed cabinets as he fixed his dinner plate, and he ate the steak on before him as if he were trying to slaughter the cow again. Lafayette didn’t fret. They simply bounded over to his side gracefully, kissed his cheek and told him they had amazing news.

 

“What could be so amazing on such a shitty day?” Hercules asked, picking meat residue out of his molars.

 

“Adrienne is pregnant.” They said, incredulous of the statement themself. Hercules’ angry grimace eased off of his face, seemed to drip into his food and off of the face of the earth. He stopped picking at his teeth, wiped his face, and tried to understand what they were saying better.

 

“Pregnant,” he whispered, word spoken like a prayer.

 

“Yes, _mon amour,_ she’s pregnant.”

 

The prospect of being a parent must’ve washed away all of Hercules’ gruff. He gasped and repeated the word again.

 

“Yes, yes, Hercules,” Lafayette babbled with him nonsensically.  “Yes, you’re going to be a father.”

 

Lafayette could see Hercules’ eyes filling with tears. He got up from the table and held their hands in his own. He planted a kiss right on their lips, and they fell into the kiss willingly.

 

Hercules is pushing into the kiss further now, dipping his tongue into their mouth with zeal, grabbing a fistful of their hair and doubling his efforts.

 

In startled response they leapt onto him, legs locked around his waist, only being held up by their arms around his neck and his hands on their back and latching onto their hair. The kiss survived through the short distance from living room to bedroom. He pulled away from them to place them on the bed softly, as if they were a piece of fine china, too delicate to be manhandled the way he had done. If he regrets this, he expresses the regrets in sweet kisses up and down Lafayette’s torso, now revealed from Hercules’ pushing up their blouse. He dots the spread of skin in sweet groan-filled kisses, laps at their nipples, sucks at them when he’s met with their moans.

 

He makes his way up to their neck and kisses turn into bites and grazes of teeth so affectionate Lafayette could cry. They wail high and needy and grab at one of Hercules’ hands, guide it towards their still-clothed legs, desperately rubbing the fabric there. Hercules lifts himself off of Lafayette to take their pants and undergarments off, tosses them to the side of the bed in a manic pace.

 

He takes his own shirt off, eyes Lafayette with lidded-eyes, daring them to do the same. They do so as quickly and efficiently as they can having been so worked up, and Hercules takes off his pants and boxers.

 

Now both sufficiently nude they go back to kissing, kissing and kissing and kissing. Hercules tweaks at their nipples and kneads them erect, fucking his tongue into their mouth when they open it wider to moan. Lafayette bucks their hips up and their groins touch. Hercules looks at them with so much intent, grinds his naked hips down into Lafayette’s, their dicks sliding against each other, their precum mixing on their skin.

 

Lafayette barely understands themself while they’re muttering underneath Hercules. They only remember _the father of my child, yes, you’re going to be a father, my husband, my beautiful loving husband—_

 

_..._

 “I could do without that,” A beat. Lafayette pokes at the cum sitting on their chest, drying fast, becoming tack. “You know, every time.”

 

“Nah, ‘S not so bad.” Hercules shrugs and flips back onto them and licks a stripe through the mess, collecting it on his tongue and displaying it proudly to his partner before swallowing it down.

 

“That’s fucking disgusting, _choquant_ , don’t show me!” There’s less bite to their tone than their words suggest. Lafayette tosses a pillow at Hercules’ head and he dodges it masterfully. Hercules can’t help but be amused by Lafayette and they engage in the shortest and silliest pillow fight the world’s ever seen.

 

“Does she know the sex of the baby?” Hercules asks conversationally as he’s wiping Lafayette’s chest off with a wet rag. They flinch at the coolness of the cloth against their contrastingly heated skin.

 

“No, not yet. She _just_ found out she was pregnant, love.”

 

“Right, right. Not that it matters, of course. I’ll love them in any circumstance, of course. You know that, right?”

 

They did know that. That was probably their happiest moment to date.

 

* * *

 

Hercules hadn’t reacted well when Lafayette asked to be referred to as Georges’ father, or when they requested he/him pronouns be used around their child. Not that Hercules minded Lafayette experimenting with their gender in the slightest, of course not. It was just so…forced, it seemed. It was in every little thing they did, from their strut being diminished to a careless bumbling about of their legs to their usually sweet, already deep voice being dropped octaves lower.

 

What were they trying to compensate for?

 

And their attire was so…not Lafayettian, if such a word exists. Less blouses, more polos. Less skirts, more pants. Less color coordination in general, which was definitely a sign of illness. Insanity, perhaps? Not Lafayettian, at all.

 

He knew he shouldn’t, but…

 

“Why do you want to be a guy all of a sudden?”

 

He blurted it out mistakenly, purely a mistake, not intention. He didn’t mean for it to sound so insensitive and ugly, like he was disgusted with his spouse. His _husband_?

 

“I beg your pardon?” They asked with venom in their speech.

 

“I mean, you never really stick to a fashion choice, masculine or feminine, you kinda just,” He flaps his arms around wildly. “Do you, you know? I’ve noticed a change.”

 

“I do not know what you mean.”

 

“And you use he/him now…I don’t get it, Laf. I really don’t.”

 

“Perhaps it’s not something for you to get? Hm? Now I’m going to pick up our son from the elementary school. Let’s see an attitude adjustment by the time I get back, no?”

 

They left with their nose to the air, their husband scratching his head in awe.

* * *

 

Georges is 17 now. Lanky, tall, just like his parents. He’s got some height on him, no doubt a trait he possesses due to his lineage. His hair is spring and full of coils, bouncy and flouncy like his parent’s. Hercules has given up going shopping for new clothes and simply sews new parts into Georges’ old ones; for he can’t see the point in getting new garments every time Georges outgrows some he already owns.

 

They live in Albany now. A large house straight out of TV sitcom, complete with a dog and a birdbath in the front yard is home to the Lafayette-Mulligans. It’s the kind of house a couple dreams of raising a family in, and thanks to Mulligan’s hard work and Lafayette’s royal trust funds, it’s the only house Georges Washington de Lafayette has ever known.

 

Georges is a social butterfly. Not only does he make countless friends around the neighborhood, but he’s considered very popular at school, too. He visits the nearby Hamilton-Laurens household often, The Burrs down the road, or even the Jeffersons.

 

It’s been eleven years of lying to Georges about Lafayette’s gender. He’s only known dad and other dad, none of this non-binary, genderfluid mess. It’s eating at Hercules, Lafayette can tell, to have to switch pronouns constantly. Lafayette wants to be upfront about it, they really do, but it’s a sacrifice they have to make.

 

“I have a boyfriend.” Georges announces at a family dinner. Zizi, the family’s Yorkshire terrier, noses at food debris on the ground Georges accidentally flung from his plate.

 

“That’s so nice dear,” Lafayette hears themself saying. Hercules is overjoyed and immediately embraces him. The reaction is expected from two very gay parents, of course, but something about Lafayette’s reply is stilted.

 

“Are you sure, dad?” Georges chokes out from the tightness of Hercules’ hug. “You seem pretty on the fence about it.”

 

Lafayette forces a smile through the misgendering, looks playfully towards their son. “I mean, as long as he’s a decent guy, right? He’s dating you, so of course he has good taste.” Hercules smirks at his spouse.

 

“Yeah.” Lafayette can see a faint blush spreading across Georges face.

 

“So. Do we know the little Romeo?” Hercules lets go of Georges and he breathes in a labored breath before continuing.

 

“Yeah, you both do. It’s…he’s…” He shuffles awkwardly. “Do you remember Philip Hamilton?”

 

“Fuck.”

* * *

 

“Do you do this because your dad wasn’t around?”

 

“Hercules, quiet!” Impolite accusations aside, Lafayette was tired of arguing with Hercules. Hercules has brute build and physical strength on his side yes, but he’s also such a bother to argue with. He rarely dropped an argument when he thought he was right, and it was clear that this wasn’t a situation where kissing and making up was going to work. This was a quarrel that was bound to stretch beyond tonight, they could feel it in their gut.

 

“Georges is sleeping,” They say, carefully closing the door to their son’s room. “He’s only six, this is a very important part of development for him.”

 

“Why are you trying so hard to overcompensate with the machismo?” He completely ignored their request. “What are you trying to prove?”

 

“Nothing,” They lied. “Could you just fucking drop it?”

 

“You act like this isn’t a new thing, like I’m just supposed to fall the fuck in line with it? Gil, I remember back in college someone used he/him for you and you had a fucking panic attack, what—”

 

They feel a bolt of nerve surge through their core. “Things change, okay, Hercules? Holy shit, things fucking change, you said it yourself, I changed a lot about you, and things are capable of fucking changing for me! Why can’t you just—ugh! _Tu avez plein de merde, enculé, fous le camps_!” They continued spewing a barrage of swears and insults in their native tongue, not caring who could hear their tantrum.

 

“Gil, calm—”

 

They swung a clenched fist at Hercules’ broad chest.

 

“Don’t you fucking call me Gil, Don’t you fucking—”

 

“ _Papa_?”

 

Lafayette turned and saw young Georges. His eyes were wet and bloodshot, strained from crying.

 

They crouched down to talk to him face to face. “Go to bed, chevreau, just go to bed, okay? We’re going to sleep too.”

 

“Why did you hit Daddy?”

 

Lafayette choked on their words. _Shit._ They knew they had a temper, and usually they could reign it in, but something about Hercules’ stupid sense of entitlement just pushed them to a point.

 

Hercules crouched next to Lafayette and hovered his hand over their side, a silent question for consent. Lafayette nodded for Georges’ sake and Hercules placed his around lovingly around them.

 

“I’m okay, hon, okay? We’re okay. Go to bed, okay? Do you want me to come with you?”

 

Georges nodded after a pause of indecision. Hercules followed him into his room in silence.

 

Lafayette slept on the couch that night.

 

* * *

 

“Georges is gay.”

 

“Or bi,” Hercules says contemplatively from his comfortable spot on their bed. “Or pan, or something else. Who knows? All we know is that he’s into Alex’s kid.”

 

“I don’t…get it.”

 

“What is there to get, babe?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong with him,” They mumble.

 

Hercules’ brow furrows. “How could you insinuate something would be _wrong_ with our child being gay?”

 

Lafayette stares at the ground for a while, deep in thought, doesn’t even give their husband a response. Hercules stands abruptly and makes a noise of repugnance. “I’m tired of it, Laf, I really am. I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with you lately, but I can’t handle it right now. I won’t.”

 

“What are you saying?” They ask, void of any vocal passion.

 

“I don’t know. I just can’t be around you right now. I don’t know what your problem is, but I don’t care. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

 

“No, no,” Lafayette snarls. “Please, allow me.”

 

They slam their shared room door dramatically, make a big deal out of passing the couch, and run outside. Lafayette ignores Hercules shouting for them to stay. They get in their car and drive out of the suburban district they live in.

 

Their phone rings a few times in their pocket, and they turn up the radio in the car to drown out the noise. The vibrating gets to be too much though, and they pull over to the side of the road at least five miles away from the house. They assure the car is in park and turn the music up to the maximum volume.

 

They throw their phone into the back seat and scream until their throat goes raw. This tantrum is the queen of all tantrums, one that releases all their negative energy and pent up frustration. They nearly fog up the car windows with their first scream alone.

 

Screaming turns into bawling, bawling into soft sobbing. They don’t keep track of how long they sit there on the side of the road, crying and self-loathing. All they know is that it’s late by the time they’re stable enough to hold their phone again.

 

Lafayette ignores the eleven missed calls from Hercules and hits three on their speed dial presets.

 

“Hello?”

 

“John, hey, it’s me. Can you meet me in a few minutes at the usually spot?”

 

“I’m kind of—Frances, stop, that’s _cheating_ —I’m hanging out with my family right now. Can it wait?”

 

“No, no.” They tried their hardest to stop the sobbing from leaking into their voice but they knew it was only futile at the point. “I can’t wait, _Urgence_.”

 

“Fuck, okay I—sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to swear in front of the kids—” Lafayette hears rustling over the speakers. “Okay, be calm, I’m on my way.”

 

Lafayette exhales loudly and relaxes their hands over the steering wheel. “It’s going to be alright,” They repeat over and over as they turned the kay in the ignition. “It’s going to be alright.”

 

* * *

 

Georges is in his room, sitting on his bed, trying to forget about it. He knows he heard his parents’ room door slam. He knows he heard the car start up and the engine turn over. He’s pretty sure he heard his father Hercules punch a wall or two, also.

 

He’s shaking, still trying not to think about it. His dad wouldn’t just leave him, would he? Is it really that big of a deal that he’s dating Philip? He wouldn’t leave because of something silly like that, right?

 

No, that can’t be it. This is adult stuff. Nothing more. Has to be.

 

He’s stirred from his introspection at the sound of incessant tapping on his window. He turns to open it, and his boyfriend climbs into the window.

 

“Philip, fuck, what are you doing here? _Mon Dieu_ , you scared me to death, nearly.”

 

“We were having some kind of bullshit family game night, right?” Philip coughs and puts a finger up to tell Georges to wait. He must’ve ran all the way here, the bastard.

 

“I know you’re, like, dying here, but keep it down.” Georges makes a big deal out of closing the window as slowly as possible. “My dad’s gonna kill me if he hears you in here right now.”

 

“That’s the thing though,” Philip continues, adjusting his voice volume accordingly when Georges flails his arms distressingly. “I think your dad, Lafayette I mean, I think he called my dad. They went out somewhere I think? Pops sent Frances and I to bed afterward and I think he’s still up in his room.”

 

“What’s he doing there?”

 

“Praying, maybe? He barely does it, but sometimes when the situation is dire—”

 

“No, no, I mean _my_ dad. What’s he want with Mr. Laurens?”

 

“Fuck if I know, I was just panicking and I needed someone to tell.” Philip sits on Georges’ bed and motions for his boyfriend to follow. He guides him down into his lap kisses him on his cheek. “I know you must be freaking out too.”

 

“Yeah,” Georges admits. He tucks his face in the crook of Philip’s neck. Secure and warm. Safe. “I can’t believe you came all the way over here to talk to me. That’s really gay of you, you know.”

 

“Georges, I’m bi. I have two dads. My sister is a lesbian. You’re my boyfriend, and _you_ have two dads. It’s a little late to play the gay card, I think.”

 

“It’s still so fun to tease about,” Georges laughs, a little relaxed now. How could his dad be so hypocritical about a relationship like this, so loving, like the one he has with Philip? He shifts his body a bit so his legs are framing Philip’s hips. Philip gasps and starts to speak, but he’s stopped when Georges presses his lips to his.

 

“Quiet, remember?” Georges says after the quick peck. “Now, help me get to sleep.”

 

* * *

 

“Fuck, you hit like a bitch, you know that? Fuck!”

 

Lafayette’s staggering away from John, their blood dripping onto his knuckles. John makes a noise in amusement, probably out of pity for Lafayette and awe at his own strength.

 

It’s a little bit of a tradition at this point. They go to a back alley in Albany and fuck each other up for as long as they can tolerate until they’re ready to talk things out. Fighting as a coping mechanism is frowned upon by both of their respective partners, and as far as they know, the habit was killed back in undergraduate. Alex is completely oblivious to the fight clubs John often frequented while Alex attended law school. Hercules has no idea Lafayette even knows how to throw a punch.

 

It’s unhealthy, they both are fully aware, but it gets the job done, so why fix what’s not broken?

 

“Years of living in the states really have dirtied up that mouth of yours, Laf, you know that?”

 

Lafayette sits against the cool, brick wall of the alley. They spit out a bloodied tooth into their hand. “Fuck you, man, I just…”

 

“You good for today?” John rubs the damaged skin of his knuckles. “Or, tonight, rather?”

 

Lafayette nods. They hold out their hand which John begins to wrap a nude-colored bandage around, making sure to conceal any signs of scarring. He hands a gauze to them for them to stick into their mouth to soak up the crimson flowing from their jaw, and they do so.

 

John shakes his hand out as if he just collided his fist with concrete. “God, we need to just get therapy or something at some point. Or at least wear some fuckin’ gloves.”

 

“Therapy is so expensive though. I don’t need to pay money for some shithead to tell me I’ve got daddy issues.” Lafayette says around the gauze.

 

“Let’s start there,” John sits next to them, back against the brick, and puts on a faux-therapist tone of voice. “What seems to be the problem, Lafayette, is it?”

 

Lafayette chuckles for a second but cuts themself off with a sigh. They know they need to deal with this, and if anyone should understand, it would definitely be John.

 

“Georges is gay, I think.” They say. They haven’t stop repeating it since they learned it, as if they’re trying to desensitize themself to the potency of the statement.

 

“Is that why he’s is consistently at my house? Oh man. Thank god. I thought Philip was fucking around with Madison’s kid.”

 

“ _Mon Dieu_. Anyway he’s gay and…I don’t know. People always told me I was the way I am because of my father, because he died, you know?”

 

“Shit, I _wish_ my dad was dead,” John mumbles under his breath.

 

“So I made sure I was around. That both Herc and I were around, all the time. I…I stopped being myself. I used he/him again and didn’t wear as many of my dresses, more suits and pants. I’ve never told Georges that I’m non-binary. I was trying to prevent this, I—”

 

“But what’s wrong with him being gay, Laf?” Lafayette could hear the wear in John’s voice, he was getting _offended_.

 

“I know what it’s like, okay? To be that kid. To be out like that. I didn’t even come out as pan or non-binary until college and it was still so rough outside of our circle. Hercules didn’t even date me until late freshman year and we still got looks and stares. I’d walk faster away from people who say things because I didn’t want Hercules to know I heard them, or to worry about me. I know what kids like that go through. I didn’t want…” They trail off. “This is stupid, I know this is all stupid, but I just was hoping that if I just pretended to be a little more _normal_ —”

 

“Oh no, no no, not _the n word_ ,” John pulls them in for a hug, awkward in this sitting position. “The n word is not allowed around here, Lafayette, you know that.”

 

“I hope you know that too, to be honest,” Lafayette joked.

 

“What? I don’t—Oh my god, not _that_ word. Lafayette, focus.” He frames their cheeks with his hands and pulls his face close. “Listen to me, Lafayette. Your mother tried her best to squish your tendencies, didn’t she? And your other relatives? And you were and _are_ still trans, right?”

 

“…Right.”

 

“Exactly! And Hercules, both of his parents were very supportive and painfully traditional, were they not? Do you think they expected their son to come out as pansexual after all that?”

 

Shit. John’s right. “No, no I don’t.”

 

“Precisely. Laf, your kid is going to be your kid, no matter what. He’s gonna be himself, no matter what you do. How do you think I felt when Frances came home holding Burr’s girl’s hand, wearing a shirt with ‘QUEER’ across the front of it? I was fucking terrified. I was hoping Alex and I got our asses kicked enough so our kids would never have to go through what we did, I prayed for ‘average’ kids so the topic wouldn’t even have to be addressed. But things don’t always go according to plan, and that’s not a bad thing.”

 

Lafayette takes John’s hands off of their face and nods again. John just sticks them up there again.

 

“Laf. You’re a terrific parent, but you’re being an ass right now. You need to just tell him. What he needs more than anything right now is your support.”

 

Lafayette stiffened at that truth. They know John’s not just saying this, he expects them to go through with it.

 

John stands up and puts a hand out to help Lafayette up too. “C’mon, you can stay at our house for the night, get cleaned up.”

 

* * *

 

Morning couldn’t come fast enough.

 

Hercules was pacing like a madman. He couldn’t find his spouse anywhere. Alex had told him that they were with John, and that only made him more nervous. The pair together was a disaster waiting to happen, a fuse and a match. They could be anywhere from here to Timbuktu by now.

 

“Dad,” He hears.

 

“Georges,” He says, straining his voice to sound neutral.

 

“Is Papa back yet?”

 

“No, not yet.”

 

“Well,” The youth shuffles uncomfortably. “I have something to talk to you about before he gets back.”

 

* * *

 

Lafayette rings the doorbell to their own home at around 9:00 am, around 12 hours since they left the house. They’ve blown off their steam and thrown their bitch fit, and they have a promise to keep. They want to postpone the confrontation a bit, but they know nothing good will come of it. It’s best to just face the consequences now, be chewed out by Hercules, face their son like the brave son-of-a-bitch they know they are, and carry on.

 

Besides, they already wasted as much time as possible, covering up their marks from the night before with concealer, cleaning their wounds in the Hamilton family’s sink.

 

The door swings open and it’s Hercules, who, to Lafayette’s surprise, is already smiling. He pulls them in for a skull-crushing hug, a hug that says _I’m so fucking glad you’re alive, don’t fucking scare me like that again,_ and they let out an _Oof!_ in surprise.

 

“How could you miss an idiot like me?” They say when he finally lets go.

 

“You should talk to Georges,” He says, ignoring their self-deprecating question.

 

Lafayette is taken aback but obliges, closing the front door behind them and following him inside.

 

“Papa!” Georges exclaims as soon as Lafayette is in his bedroom.

 

“Georges!” They respond and hug him tight. They back out of the hug. “Is something under your bed?”

 

Georges turns and kicks something under the piece of furniture, and Lafayette swears they hear something under there say _‘Ow.’_

 

“I don’t think so,” Georges concludes with a suspicious look. Lafayette decides to let it slide for the time being in interest of getting out their confession.

 

“Well, okay. Listen, Georges. I have something to tell you. Something very important.”

 

“Yes, Papa?”

 

“I’m not ashamed of you and Philip. I don’t care that you’re gay, or bi, or anything, I was just being stupid. I was just scared, okay? I made a stupid mistake.”

 

“ _Papa_ …”

 

“No, no, I’m talking now.” They inhale deeply and hold the breath in their chest for a second, exhale through their nose. “I support you. And I love you no matter what and I just want you to know…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m transgender, son. I’m not your dad or your papa, I am your parent. I guess you can still call me Papa, but I…I use they and them rather than he or him.  I’m neither male nor female. Do you understand that?”

 

Lafayette hears Hercules gasp sharply from the room door, and they swear they hear a similar noise from the bed again. They ignore it to search Georges’ eyes for something, anything! His eyes have gone so wide and they look like they’re welling up with tears.

 

“Georges?”

 

“I…I understand that, Papa. I’m non-binary, too. I still use he and him but, yeah.”

 

Now it’s Lafayette’s turn to look stunned. They look at him with equally big eyes and turn to Hercules.

 

“Are you _fucking serious_?” They say before they collapse into laughter. “We’re both…oh my God.”

 

Some of the tension in the room dissipates the more they laugh. Georges joins in from the pure hilarity of it all, the _hoops_ they both had to jump through to get to this point, ridiculous! Hercules laughs too, says something about how toxic and dramatic his family is.

 

So yes, perhaps there have been happier times, but you have to shovel through the shit to get through it, right?

 

Lafayette goes back to wearing what they want, and is open with their kid about their gender and their feelings. They even start chaperoning him and Philip on dates, much to the high schoolers’ chagrin.

 

It’s a complex life, yeah, but Lafayette thinks it’s worth it. Hercules slinks his hand around their waist and kisses them soundly on the lips, openly and passionately, with not as much as a glance from anyone else, and Lafayette doesn’t even flinch.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. Lmao. Welcome to this cluster of garbage.  
> I have some really bad internalized homophobia and I'm projecting, probably, but also, I just really wanted there to be more depth to the non-binary Lafayette headcanon because it seems to me that most only headcanon them as nb to put Daveed in feminine clothing which is really horrible. 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think about this fic, like, legit critiques because I'm kinda proud of it lmao
> 
> Also Philip never gets out from under Georges' bed goodbye
> 
> tmblr: @actualjohnlaurens  
> twttr: @gayjohnlaurens


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